


As ever, for England

by MercuryAlice



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q eventually, M/M, a hell of a lot of violence later on, a lot of Bond being introspective to begin with, and probably porn, warnings for ptsd overtures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryAlice/pseuds/MercuryAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time he became even fractionally self-satisfied, something untoward happened. A building collapsed, a vintage Jaguar had an unfortunate run in with a semi-automatic weapon, someone had the audacity to get themselves killed before he got what he needed from them. As had been proven time and time again, a self-satisfied Double-Oh-Seven for more than a maximum of thirty seconds put everyone in the vicinity at dire risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of stars and rattling boxes

Honestly, there were a thousand ways things could have gone terribly wrong. As it stood, what went terribly wrong wasn’t actually his fault for once- in so much as he didn’t actively cause the explosion this time- and about that fact, he was mildly proud. Which, of course, lasted precisely fourteen seconds before half the ceiling collapsed and he was forced into a far too brisk trot to get out of the adjoining building in time to avoid becoming a very well dressed pancake. James Bond was far too pleased with himself anyway, so it was probably a blessing. Every time he became even fractionally self-satisfied, something untoward happened. A building collapsed, a vintage Jaguar had an unfortunate run in with a semi-automatic weapon, someone had the audacity to get themselves killed before he got what he needed from them. As had been proven time and time again, a self-satisfied Double-Oh-Seven for more than a maximum of thirty seconds put everyone in the vicinity at dire risk. 

A fact which didn’t escape him.

But this time, he was reasonably certain that no-one had been in the building other than himself and nine very unfriendly young men who liked to think they were first class mobsters. All of which excluding himself were now varying shades of extremely dead. And he hadn’t even thought to rig an explosion, they’d fucked that right up for themselves, so all in all, he felt that fourteen seconds of self-satisfaction was well earned. An opinion that held up right up until the very moment that the concrete floor of the Kiev wreck of a building he was standing in gave way and cement dust threatened to not only choke him, but ruin what was an extremely expensive suit. Which if he was brutally honest with himself, and he liked to think he was the vast majority of the time, he really should have seen that coming since it was just so very typical. Dragging himself to his feet with a muttered curse that felt extremely gratifying dropping from his lips, the vastly annoyed agent rolled his shoulders and assessed the damage; ribcage and left ankle aching just enough to constitute as annoying rather than any actual injury worth thinking about. If for nothing else he would be spared a trip to medical, if his luck held out. 

James swiftly blamed that hopeful thought for the bullet that whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in the wall to his right, leaving a slight ringing in his ear and a growing dissatisfaction with life in general in its wake. That creeping annoyance took visceral form in the bullet he sent back immediately, but there was little gratification in being responsible for heated metal ripping through a kid’s left lung; the young man in question dropping to the ground and a veritable ocean of dark red blood spewing out over the cement, creeping inch by inch by inch outward until it formed into a puddle that damn near ruined his shoes. 

For England. As ever, for England. There were days when he seriously questioned the endless stream of bodies the country demanded under the guise of national security. But they were few and far between.

 

There was something to said for the efficiency afforded to first class passengers. He wasn’t entirely sure what exactly that was, but there was definitely something. James was back on British soil within nine hours, targets neutralized and relevant information compartmentalized until his debrief in due course; already verging on pathologically bored. That wasn’t to say the metaphorical list of things he could be doing wasn’t incredibly long and detailed, it was just comprised of things he either couldn’t be bothered or had no reason to actually be doing. Strictly speaking he should have simply gone home like a normal human being generally would, but there was always a pervasive silence in his flat that reused to lift no matter what course was taken against it. Instead he opted for placing one foot in front of the other and returning to HQ for his debrief, if for nothing else than getting it out of the way meant the box in his head containing the mission could be secured and put aside in his head along with all the others rather than rattling as it currently was. 

He needed a god damn drink. Or several morphine based tablets to blur the edges beautifully.

But those could wait, Bond supposed a little sullenly as he flashed a far too wide smile at a brunette temp that served not only to make her blush, but to stop her from chattering at him; which was by far the more agreeable option right then. While inclined to take the chattering with good grace the vast majority of the time, it always became so much more grating in the space between returning from the field and locking the box. Even the ever so quiet click of his own heels on the floor was grating at that point in time. 

Every now and then, he caught himself forgetting M was dead. He might call Mallory ‘M’ to his face, but in his head only one person was afforded that title, and she was no more than an ornate headstone and a gaudy star on the wall dedicated to MI6’s fallen. But for a flickering instant, like something seen from the corner of his eye, the fleeting thought pattern would reemerge that he was going to debrief to her and every single time it made every locked box in his mind rattle in sync until he scowled at the brick walls around him. Occasionally he couldn’t help thinking that if he had a wall dedicated to his own fallen, it would wind up collapsing under the sheer weight of the tiny metal stars pinned to it. The morbid thought bought a quirk to his lips as he took a seat to wait, hands folding in his lap and head canted as he fought back a chuckle at his own gallows humour.


	2. Discontent in spades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discontent reigns supreme for James Bond as demands of his life begin to wear thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter this time.

Keeping time wasn’t high on his priority list at that moment, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know it took exactly an hour and twenty-seven minutes to be called into Mallory’s office- by someone who wasn’t Eve Moneypenny for once- and a further two and a half minutes to be asked the million dollar question. Which was why the bloody hell he’d felt the need to cause another building to explode? Bond barely refrained from rolling his eyes, maintaining a modicum of respect that he really didn’t quite feel at that second. It was the phantom tangents of M that did it, bred discontent in him that verged on making him even more insubordinate than he already it was. The urge to be entirely dismissive was rejected out of hand and he sat stock still, eyes level and back ram-rod straight; only a slight quirk of his brow giving any indication of the disrespect bubbling under the surface.

“With all due respect, even if I had- which I didn’t this time- it wouldn’t have been for the pleasure of running from an explosion.” Bond clipped, earning an annoyed ‘tch’ for his trouble and getting a suddenly graphic image of his superior being replaced by someone who was less of a blatant bureaucrat. Gratifying as the mental scene was, he was also well aware that it was grossly unfair and that the man had earned his respect. Again the rattling boxes cast a harsh light on things, twisting them to a different purpose and souring his view of the world. “Ten dead in Kiev, four in Odessa and eight in Prague. Apparently someone thought hiring teens to traffic weapons was a stroke of genius.” He added dryly, a ghost of a shrug lifting his shoulders as he settled back in the unforgiving chair; dispassion lacing his tone. 

The pleased look Mallory let cross his face made him almost desperately want to break something. It hadn’t been necessary, in his opinion, to execute all of them. But he had and with neither hesitance nor question, because he was explicitly told to. At the end of the day, though it didn’t haunt him as he knew it did some, there was nothing honourable in murdering boys trying to be men by becoming puppets of those with absolutely no regard for life other than their own.

Hypocrite, his mind hissed over the idle thought. And his subconscious had a bloody good point.

“Berlin in a month is our best bet to shut the operation down. Unless we want to-“

“Your management opinions are noted, Double-Oh-Seven.” He was cut off coolly, the man opposite him cutting a reprimanding look his way before waving a hand at the door. “But I’m quite certain the department can run without them.”

Bond knew a dismissal when he heard one, and this time it welcome if for nothing else that the mission was already beginning to seal itself in the shadowy places of his mind of its own accord; folding itself neatly in its box and letting the locks fall into place around it with a series of near audible clicks, a familiar sense of calm rising in its wake like smoke curling up glass. “I’d expect so, Sir.” James remarked as he rose to his feet, jacket tugged back into place out of sheer habit and head tilting deferentially as he turned on his heel and left the room at a steady clip; door clicking shut in perfect time with the last of his compartmentalization in a show of stunning efficiency. 

There’s something terribly efficient about you. The phrase was an exact echo for Camille’s voice and it made him grimace rather than smile this time.


End file.
